


Desolation

by LovelyValentine



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Comrades, Gen, Hurt Neal Caffrey, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Post-Series, Sickfic, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyValentine/pseuds/LovelyValentine
Summary: Cold and lost with only an injured ex-con for company. Jones wonders how he's not only reached this point in his life, but when he started thinking of Neal Caffrey as more than just a criminal.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Clinton Jones, Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 32
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabyStepsAreStillSteps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyStepsAreStillSteps/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to a very kind author on this site who not only took the time to reply to my comments on their wonderful story 'Precieving Reality', but they also provided prompts to get the creative juices flowing for this story. BabyStepsAreStillSteps is really, really nice and a joy to talk to. I recommend checking out their White Collar stories. :)
> 
> I really hope that I'm able to do the characters justice. Please let me know where I could improve please, this is my first time writing for this fandom. This takes place after the anklet is off, but the series finale never happened. 
> 
> Thank you very much for taking the time to read. Merry Christmas!

If anyone ever told him that seven years after handcuffing _‘James Bonds’_ that he would end up not only calling him a co-worker, but also a friend, he’d have likely had them locked in a padded room.

Chilled air stings his face as he pushes forward through a decent pile of snow. All sense of time, and seemingly direction, lost when he stumbles across a familiar cluster of thin trees. To say he’s disappointed is an understatement. Heart heavy and shivering, Jones turns to the sky. The twinkling stars blinding him with their beauty, the moon looking mighty and proud. Carefully setting his burden down, he surveys what little he can with the moonlight. Two large trees sit close to one another a few yards ahead of him. Snow piled a little as it had built up against the trunks.

Feeling a bit hopeful, he approaches, only to find the strong wind wasn’t as forceful here. Taking as deep a breath as he can, Jones begins to dig. Pulling and throwing the waist deep snow aside until a small alcove is formed. The larger wall of white that had settled against the two trees is high enough that it can block the harsher winds. Satisfied, he digs a deeper hole in front of the makeshift shelter. Exhaustion starting to cloud his mind and weaken his body as he finally gets to his feet. Mustering enough strength to scrape some loose bark and smaller branches from the thinner, smaller trees littering the area.

Carefully he sets what he’s gathered aside, placing it one by one into the hole he’d dug in front of the snow wall before pulling a lighter from his pocket. Why he’d thought in all chaos that had befallen them to grab the lighter from the glove compartment of his car was a mystery, even to him. Maybe it was instinct, or just dumb luck. Praying that it still worked, he struck it. The small sparks that rise from it are the best thing he’s seen all night as he strikes it again. Jones can feel his spirits lifting some as the wood and kindle come to life with fire.

“Thank you, God.”

Carefully, he adds more to the pit. Working the fire into a fuller blaze, the warmth radiating from it is strong enough for him to feel it through his gloves. Allowing himself one good smile, he lets out a heavy breath and stumbles to his feet. He can almost hear the creak of his bones and joints as he shuffles back to his friend. Grasping the two thick branches that make up the stretcher’s handles, he lifts with every ounce of energy. The trek back to their makeshift camp seems so much farther with the extra weight, but he wouldn’t dare think of what the alternative would be. Worry that had long settled into his heart clawing into the forefront of his mind as he finally sets the litter down closest to the wall of snow.

The fires warmth covers them both,and with a heavy sigh, he finally sits. Eyes shifting to the man who lay cradled in what remains of their suit jackets, still unresponsive. The only sign of life, besides the constant shivers, being the small puffs of white emanating from his lips. Pulling off one snowy glove, Jones cups the pale man’s face. Rubbing small circles into his cheek as if it would provide warmth as he leans closer. Both their noses nearly touching.

“Caffrey. Caffrey, wake up.”

Jones’ voice breaks. His pleads remaining unanswered as he closes his eyes. He can feel the tear forming before he has a chance to fight it off. Leaving an icy sting in its path before landing on Neal’s pale skin. Jones lifts Neal from the stretcher, taking care not to move the ex-con’s leg as he scoots over. Cold wisps of air hit his cheek as he maneuvers the injured man into a comfortable position.

Neal’s head sitting against Jones’ chest as the agent holds him close, his own frozen cheek resting atop the younger man’s hair. Another tear slips down without his consent as he hugs the other man as tight as he dares without hurting him further. Pulling the spare coat, he’d managed to grab from the trunk of the car tighter around the Neal’s torso. Hoping some semblance of warmth can be generated.

“Hang on, Neal. Please, don’t leave me alone out here.”

Jones’ eyes, heavier than they’d been a few minutes prior, start to close. His eyelids drooping down until all he sees is darkness. Blocking out winds hollowed sounds, he lets the warmth of their fire and the shaky, but still present breathes of the ex-con lull him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this, and I really hope that everyone enjoys it. I tried to keep it interesting. :)

“Neal.”

“Neal.”

Jones sighs, rolling his eyes and throwing a light punch to the dozing ex-cons shoulder. It’s enough to jolt the young man awake. His drowsy attempts to straighten out himself, as well as his clothes, amusing the agent to no end.

“Eyes up, Caffrey.”

Neal, now glaring sleepily, stretches as much as the cramped car will allow. Cold joints popping while he stifles a yawn.

“Didn’t know you liked my small talk, Jones.”

Side-eyeing the rumpled ex-con, the agent shakes his head.

“I just don’t wanna keep talking to myself over here.”

“Aw Clint, don’t be like that.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

The patented Caffrey smirk pulls itself into place. his eyes now full of mischief.

“That I can continue to do so?”

The agent scoffs.

“Try again, convict.”

Letting out a small huff of his own, Neal settles deeper into his seat. Smirk faltering just enough for his true emotions to flicker through before it’s back on full display. Jones, feeling a growing remorse for the slipup, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. The small action seemingly enough to draw the ex-con’s attention to the snow-covered road, chewing lightly at his own lip. Confidence visibly dwindled as he sinks further into the leather, his face blank.

Jones, shifting uncomfortably behind the wheel, feels his cheeks warming with shame as he stutters out whatever his brain can scramble together.

“Neal I- I didn’t-“

“It’s fine.”

The response is soft, but cold enough to chills the agents bones worse than any storm. The ex-con glance shifts to the right, trying to take in the road they’ve left behind in the side mirror. The dark night making it nearly impossible to see anything but small whips of snow. Awkward silence takes the place of whatever playful camaraderie was felt beforehand, and the lightless road they’ve left in their tracks seems endless until light breaks through.

Two orbs of light that can only be another car approach quickly, getting to their bumper in record time. A heavy jolt startling them both as metal meets metal, the vehicle behind now attempting to get to their left side. Jones, now staring into his side mirror, can do nothing but watch as the car pulls up alongside them. A small, but familiar, black object glinting in the moonlight as it slides out the passenger window. Finger already on the trigger.

Shots fire before either man can even blink. The pops almost deafening despite the strong wind of the storm. Driver and back passenger windows shatter as Jones turns the wheel to the right, breaking as much as he dares on the icy roads while the other vehicle follows suit. Slowing down enough to get a few shots off, one lucky bullet punctures the back-left tire. The car swerves dangerously.

Over-correction, a blown tire, and vehicle ramming vehicle combining to create what was likely a grand spectacle as Jones’ car begins to spin. The front tires failing to find any traction as the road beneath them disappears. A tree collides with the side of the car, smashing into them so hard they’re now backwards. All hope of control over the situation gone as the agent’s vehicle tilts downward. Airbags pushing them into the seats after deployment as they continue at what feels like a twenty-degree angle. Catching tree after tree as they descend the hill.

Their speed, as well as the beating, disorienting both men enough that the fact that the car now lay upside down completely escapes them. Jones comes to quickly, panic flowing through him at a record pace as his head swivels from side to side. Nothing but crushed metal and snow meeting his gaze as he takes a minute to groan in pain. Head throbbing and ribs likely bruised or broken, he begins the process of extracting himself from the seat belt and car. Voices reaching his ear as they’re carried downhill on the wind, getting louder with each minute that seems to pass.

Adrenaline takes hold before he has a chance to really think. The only thing in the forefront of his mind being that of saving his friend and getting away from their assailants. It doesn’t take long to realize that Neal’s side of the car took more damage than his. The door nearly caved in and not opening any time soon. Crawling back to his side, the door only attached by a damaged hinge, he slides back inside. Using a pocketknife to cut away the seat belt before extracting Neal from the confines of the vehicle.

The voices grow louder.

“Jo-.”

What did they say?

“Jones.”

How do they know his name?

“Wake up…”

* * *

Jones’ head snaps up. Connecting with a large wall of snow as he tears his eyes open. Blinking away white dust that’s settled in his eyelashes, he quickly scans his surroundings. No car, no men, no darkness. Shelter, Neal, and Warmth. Briefly the tension leaves him, taking in the weight of his friend as he still lay cradled against him. Trying to calm his erratic heart before peeling his heavy eyelids open again. Gaze shifting downward to the pale, bloodied face of his companion. Surprised to find blue, fever bright eyes staring back at half-mast.

The former convict stares up with a mixture of confusion and concern. Lines of pain evident on his brow as he tries to move, regretting the decision to do so when he mistakenly shifts his right leg. The cry of pain’s immediate, sending his body into unstoppable shakes. Jones, now fully awake, puts a hand to Neal’s head. His first reaction to press the man’s head against him while his grabs for the ex-cons closest hand. Jones sits as a solid pillar for which he hopes Neal will find strength.

The cares of an agent or personal comforts pushed aside as Neal releases small, muffled cries into his chest.

Shakes beginning to dissipate, as well as what little control the ex-con has left as tears trail down his cheeks. Streaking through the dried blood coating the right side of his face.

“I'm right here, Caffrey.”

Clinton sits back against the wall of snow, trying to focus on anything but his friend’s agony before turning his attention to the source of it. 

Well.

One large source of it.

“Neal. I need to check your leg.”

A pain-filled whimper meets his ears as he starts to put Neal down. The hurt man’s free hand grasping the front of his winter jacket, more tears forming against his will.

“I need to make sure the splint’s holding up.”

Jones can feel his own tears not far behind as he begins the process of extracting his legs from beneath the man’s body. He quickly reaches for a branch that hadn’t been added to the fire yet. The chipping wood thick enough to keep Caffrey’s head above the snow as he lowers him to the snow. The ex-cons hand, though weak, still holding onto his jacket. Eyes full of uncertainty. Cold and building fever toying with his awareness, as well as self-control.

_“Jones.”_

Neal’s voice isn’t even a whisper. Jones only hears his name uttered from the cracked lips as it’s caught by a small gust of wind. Swallowing down his own frustration and uncertainty, Jones musters up whatever confidence he can find buried inside. Frozen somewhere in his core along with the rest of his body. His heart and mind fighting to bring it to the surface for the sake of his companion as he leans down. Once again pressing his cold forehead against Neal's own, feeling the heat steadily growing as his body starts to burn from the inside.

“I need to check your leg, Neal.”

_“N-not… g-gon’ make it.”_

“No, you’re gonna be fine. I need to make sure your splints secure. Understand?”

_“Y-Yes.”_

Jones cups the man’s head in his hands. The chill of his skin making Neal wince as he tries to take some of his friends’ strength for his own before the agent disappears from his line of sight. Only the dark sky and bright moon sit before him. Flickering embers from their slowly dying fire floating upwards before fading away. A decent distraction for the time being as he feels Jones’ gentle ministrations. Unaware that as he watches the embers fly, Jones sits with one hand to his mouth. Teeth biting down on the gloved section between his right thumb and pointer finger as he struggles with what he knows needs to be done.

The branches and torn material used to immobilize the leg as much as possible turning their trek had come loose. A small, bloodied piece of Neal’s fractured tibia staring back at him as it juts from his skin. The hole he’s torn to see the injury better letting him once again take in the severity of the situation. Familiar wafts of panic and uncertainty beginning to overwhelm him until he glances over his shoulder.

Taking in Neal’s somewhat peaceful expression and breathing in calming breaths before moving back to the man’s head. Once again taking Caffrey’s face in his hands, he full enters his line of sight. Trying to calm his heart as it picks up pace, seemingly wanting to beat out of his chest.

“Neal, the splints loose.”

The ex-con only stares back, small flickers of fear present in his eyes.

“Did you hear me?”

Neal, not trusting himself to speak, only manages a small nod. Fear now present not only in his eyes, but his bottom lip as it begins to quiver.

Jones wets his own lips, closing his eyes for just a minute. Trying to ignore the nausea growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Neal. Listen to me.”

Gathering himself mentally, he pushes forward.

“You scream as loud as you need to, okay? There’s no shame in it. You let it out, you hear?”

_“I… I t-trust you, Clint.”_

Jones can’t stop the small burst of laughter, a fond hand brushing through the snowy, sweaty locks of Neal’s hair before pulling himself together. The brief elation leaves him just before grim reality creeps back in. With a deep breath and one strong squeeze of Neal’s shoulder, he moves back to the task at hand. Positioning himself close to four strips of cloth holding the braces in place, he says a small prayer. Firmly grasping the first strip in hand, he looks back at Neal.

“Ready?”

Seeing a small nod, he pulls. The reaction he’d been dreading wasted no time in showing itself.

With each tightening of cloth, the long wails that escape the ex-cons lips are enough to haunt Jones for the remainder of his years. The sound of Neal’s fingers digging into the snow, trying hard to find something solid to hold onto pierces his heart as he gets makes his way to third strip. By the time he’s finished with the fourth and the splint is secure, he can feel the tight muscles in Neal’s body release.

Only light tremors hitting him from head to toe as he rides out the last wave of pain. Jones, wiping at tears, turns in time to see Neal’s eyes roll back. Only catching a glimpse of white before his lead laden eyelids fall shut and his body slackens.

Jones, throwing himself towards Neal with a burst of panic, places his head on the ex-con’s chest. The fast heartbeat and fast breathing are music to his ears as he heaves a sigh of a relief. His own eyes feeling heavier as his head, feeling like a brick, stays firmly rested against Neal’s chest. Exhaustion, as well as emotional overload, throwing him into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, listening to this while writing really helped get my fingers moving. Lol  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGkh1W5cbH4


End file.
